BLISSFUL HOUSEWIFE DAYS
BLISSFUL HOUSEWIFE DAYS
i don't feel like i deserve to move out of my parent's house, is why i haven't. i dont feel like i'm valuable enough to myself or the world to take care of myself. i wanted so badly to move in with anika, but all i could feel facing the opportunity was guilt and anxiety.
JF: Why is it that much of the content on the Internet, this supposedly amazingly democratic, anarchic forum, is becoming dull and corporate and organised?
Nick Land: Your question suggests that there’s some pre-existing social pool of liberatory, revolutionary, emancipatory creative potential that could be expected to spontaneously express itself as soon as it had an opportunity to do so. But there is no such intrinsic power of innovation latent in the human organism that’s just waiting to bounce out onto the web. So the question really is what are the assemblages that are emerging? And correspondingly to what extent are distributed systems becoming operative as such?
JF: So how do systems which are initially freeform and distributed give way to centralised power structures?
NL: You have to understand that organisation involves subordinating low level units to some higher level functional program. In the most extreme cases, like in biological organisms, every cell is defunctionalised, turned off, except for that one specialised function that it is allocated by the organic totality. And hence the preponderant part of its potential is deactivated in the interests of some higher level unity. That’s why the more organised things get, the less interesting their behaviour becomes – “interesting” simply meaning here how freely they explore a range of possible behaviours, or how “nomadic” they are.
the inability to smile at strangers with my eyes, too; unless i want to sleep with them.
when i was a child my mother had told me how her own childhood pet, a little salamander, had been accidentally flushed down the bathtub drain while she cleaned its cage. i thought it was sad, but like any kid i was all caught up in the idea, asking lots of prodding questions, saying what she should have done to try to save it. it's a thing kids do, they assume they'd have shot hitler. my mother became defensive and started crying. i sort of couldn't believe a woman in her early forties could still acutely feel the pain of losing a childhood pet, but i took in the message that they do. i was so fascinated by this tragedy. i used to whisper down the toilet boll to her lost pet. i used to dress up all in green on certain days, telling my parents i was in mourning for it on that day. pale green sweatshirt and slightly darker pale green sweatpants. green seemed an appropriate colour to honour this dead.
i owned a pale pink sweatshirt and the colour was revolting, every time i put it on i became really actually nauseated. i was a sensitive thing.
my mother also cried when i was sad over my first ever break up, she cried and told me she still didnt understand why her boyfriend, from when she was eighteen to twenty, broke up with her. this was to show me i couldnt keep crying and must get over it, to say we all had pain.
over having not spent enough time, in her teens, with her own grandmother before she died, i have seen her cry more than a few times. on birthdays. when my father talks about when they were young and she was all long hair and long legs. when she tells me i didn't spend enough time with her mother once she was old bitter and cruel. she cries and the storms cloud her and she cannot dispense with her regret. i never wanted to be like her and yet so seemingly without making any conscious choices to become so, i become more and more trapped by regret.
so in an effort to improve my french and hebrew, i've put together a list of about 300 movies in either language (a couple of the movies are in both languages, i didn't know so many hebrew films came out of france). i'm about a week into watching one or two french films a day (surtout sans les sous-titres). they tend to be really good, i'd overlooked that many of my favorite films are french (c.r.a.z.y., les chansons d'amour, amélie, les émotifs anonymes, etc.) also they are romantic as hell, in the way i like and not in the hollywoodland way.
if anyone wants to get in on this here is my list: http://mubi.com/users/3652541/watchlist. you have to scroll back quite a bit for the hebrew ones
i resent everything about my family's twisted reverence for their arbitrary set of values. i hate being called out on behaving selfishly when no one else has been warped by them the way i have.
had to be responsible for myself. i still don't, living in res on a meal plan supported by my parents. it's no wonder i continue to fall apart at the seams. i should've moved out at seventeen, i might have pulled myself together along the way.
that is why i feel more alive when i travel. not out of being hopelessly wedded to wandering but because i yearn to be my own person.
something in me causes me to forget the friends i have, to feel utterly alone. to shut them out, push them away. i know yr there but i know less and less how to reach out. the thing is my loneliness is so huge i fear the desperation tinges everything i do . when i spend time with people i hear their voices putting me down, tearing me apart as i walk out of the room. i do not know whether this really happens or not. i see a mirror of my own self-hatred in their eyes. i think my laughter spells out drowning, the bag-lady madness of panic in its cackle. i experience lows and i experience survival in a way that makes me feel connection with others is impossible. how can i connect to you without telling you what i am going through and yet i have no words to even express how soft my self-destruction, how internalized, and would i ruin your day if i did ?
my family and the people around me in general i think used to have this image of me as super kind and gentle as well as super innocent. i spent a lot of time feeling trapped and cheated by that portrayal of me as innocent, spent a lot of time tearing it down to find my own real self, i don’t have any self, my identity has no parameters i know of, i don’t know who i am, or anything i won’t try, they don’t think i’m innocent anymore but more grievous is the knowledge that no one thinks i’m kind.
i've seen a picture i can't find now of a protest sign with the words
'at what age did you lose your compassion'
i wonder that often about myself.
i used to care so deeply and now i am struggling to extend the hand of a sympathetic email to my relatives for the loss of their family member. i struggle to engage with the world around me. i feel myself slipping away.
School isn’t going well at all. The classes are alternately fascinating, stimulating, frustrating and inspiring but I have and have always had trouble getting work done and handing things in on time. By trouble, I mean extreme fucking anxiety and distraction that erases knowledge of impending deadlines from my mind and causes me to be unable to actually comprehend chapters or articles I may be assigned to read. The words just don’t work. I was so stoked on journalism, but it is a class that requires me to frequently and on a scheduled basis interview strangers and I am way terrified by this prospect. Somehow I wasn’t expecting this, or not expecting it to play out like this. I didn’t think I’d sink into such a deep sleep of lethargy and depression that I’d feel like the effort to attend classes would be too draining to leave me with any energy leftover for checking out local events to cover them or trying to find someone to talk to me about their addiction. The insurmountable wall of paralyzing fear that keeps me from being able to do things isn’t new, but I haven’t been in school for over a year and am pretty out of the habit of struggling through it. And when I last was in school, I was pretty much just studying art and the whole process is entirely different, although I had enormous trouble with that, too. I am working on getting accommodations from the school’s LD center but it is a drawn-out process and I invariably keep putting off the steps because I have very little faith in the system’s ability to help me out. And I have all this awful miserable nagging internalized stigma surrounding it. I’d like to extend a hearty fuck you to my art teachers at my last school for telling me over and over that my problems weren’t valid, and for telling me I was their ‘worst student’ in front of the class and making me cry before clarifying that I was only their worst student juxtaposed with me being one of their ‘best painters’ at the time, or something. On another occasion another teacher told me, ‘You are clearly incredibly irresponsible, just get out of my sight.’ What is frustrating is that my irresponsibility isn’t due to a lack of caring, it is due to caring way too fucking much and holding high standards of perfectionism that make it scary to tackle assignments.
I’m being bitter but holy shit I am so terrified that I won’t pass anything and will have psyched myself up for something that will turn out to be a colossal failure, and I’m so sad all the time I wonder how I can ever begin to think positively.
being female is terrifying as hell no way can i rationalize all the bleeding going on out-of-cycle as i ease myself into a regimen of Aviane oral contraceptive. all the paraphenalia surrounding being hetero-sexually active makes me feel so drained.
i awake from fourteen hours of sleep, effortlessly avoiding quotidian life. i am still waiting to wake from twenty years of a sleep that runs deeper still.
given how closely our lives are followed through the cameras carried by the people around us i find it telling there hasn't been a picture of me taken by or with any friends in over a year. i can't believe how little time i've spent with anyone in this last year. i can't believe how paralyzed by fear i am when faced with the prospect of making new ones. and yet i can't go home, that city that flaunts all my failures and losses. how did i become so much like my mother, so consumed by faults that i cannot move forward. another person could easily expel thoughts like these. too much time on my hands. hands full of the past.
is this type of thinking diagnosable ? alex gets in to halifax today. conflicted.